


Turning, Twisted

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, dark themes, issues of consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry takes what he wants. And when he doesn’t want it any more, he refuses to let it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning, Twisted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hd-holidays.livejournal.com/profile)[**hd_holidays**](http://hd-holidays.livejournal.com/). Undying thanks to my betas, [](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/profile)[**seatbeltdrivein**](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/), [](http://bk7brokemybrain.livejournal.com/profile)[**bk7brokemybrain**](http://bk7brokemybrain.livejournal.com/), [](http://lucianwolf.livejournal.com/profile)[**lucianwolf**](http://lucianwolf.livejournal.com/) and [](http://phoenix-fancies.livejournal.com/profile)[**phoenix_fancies**](http://phoenix-fancies.livejournal.com/) for being so patient, amazing, and brilliant.

Everything about Draco Malfoy made Harry Potter a monster.

Ten years Harry'd been married. He'd been a father almost as long and an Auror for longer. He paid his bills on time—early, even—and always tipped generously. He was, in every meaning of the term, a good man.

Until it came to Draco. Draco who had become an Auror, Harry could only assume, to piss people off. Specifically, Harry, he was sure, and it worked because Harry _loathed_ Draco and everything he stood for and there were no longer days that passed that he didn’t regret defending the Malfoys at trial; that he didn’t see Draco in the halls, narrow his eyes, and _think_ the spell that would send Draco to the ground writhing in pain.

Worse yet, Draco revelled in the knowledge that Harry despised him. Every pat on the back from a higher-up had Draco smirking in Harry's direction, taking every ounce of credit for himself. Despite his selfish glory-mongering, Draco was effortlessly popular among Harry's Aurors—Aurors who had once revered Harry and were now simply indifferent.

"Malfoy," he said, pretending cordiality as he forced himself to do every single day.

Draco snorted as he passed and didn’t even meet Harry's eyes.

"Poncy little shit," Harry muttered, shoving the door to his office open and striding through.

Harry caught his reflection in the glass of the office window, the red of his Auror's robes drawing his eye. There was always this moment whenever Harry entered his office that felt like a dream. He'd realise his life was decided; he'd served his purpose and was as good as obsolete. Not that he wanted it any other way—he still eschewed publicity and wouldn’t read a _Daily Prophet_ with his name on it.

Two separate moments that day took his mind off Draco for longer than a minute at time. The first moment was when Ron came in to ask if their weekly dinner was on and did he and Ginny want to host or should Hermione take care of it that week? The second was Ginny’s playful response to his owl that avoiding Hermione's cooking was worth the trouble of having dinner at their own house.

While he welcomed the respite from thoughts he didn’t understand or appreciate, when the moments ended Draco crashed back into his brain like an overeager owl against a too-clean window.

The moment the door closed behind Ron, _crash._ Draco. The moment he finished reading Ginny's note, _crash._ Draco again.

When he assigned cases, Draco took the files with careful fingers, never touching Harry, like he didn’t even exist except for a few seconds when interaction was necessary. Even then it was as though Draco was _laughing_.

It was almost the end of the day and he was looking forward to getting home, but all Harry could think about was Draco's cool disinterest in him. His mind's eye was assaulted with the image of Draco standing in the lunchroom hours before, his wallet open to showcase a photograph of Scorpius on a training broom. A photograph Harry had never been shown. Draco hadn't once even tried to make Harry consider extending an olive branch.

Decided, Harry jotted out a quick inter-office memo directing Draco to see him immediately. He then folded his hands on his desk in front of him and waited. Draco loved to keep him waiting.

Harry was seething fifteen minutes later when Draco, knocking forgone, walked into his office.

"You wanted to see me, Potter?" Draco neglected to close the door behind him, sitting without being asked in one of the metal chairs facing Harry's desk.

With a scowl, Harry spelled the door shut and stood, enjoying the height advantage all the more knowing that Draco felt it as well.

"Your disturbing lack of respect has come to my attention recently, Malfoy." Harry paused, letting his comment sink in. By the incredulous look on Draco's face, Harry could tell he was in for a fight. He looked forward to it. "So let's address that. Starting with you calling me _sir_."

"You've got to be joking—"

"Am I smiling? Are you laughing? Then it's not a fucking joke. Address me with the respect I've more than earned or there will be consequences."

Draco was on his feet in seconds, arms crossed over his chest. "What consequences?"

Harry hadn't thought that far ahead. Draco was supposed to be backtracking, was supposed to use the honorific grudgingly. Then Harry could feel like he'd gotten his way and Draco would feel belittled and all would be right in the world.

"If your attitude doesn’t change, you can expect a leave. Unpaid."

"That's bullshit and you know it!" Draco snapped. He stepped closer to Harry, fire in his eyes, but Harry didn’t retreat; he never would, not from Draco.

"It's well within my power to correct bad behaviour in my Aurors, Malfoy. In fact, it's expected of me. If you can't manage what's expected of you, then you can go home to your wife, tail tucked, and explain why you'll be spending a lot more quality time at home."

The mention of Draco's wife seemed to have an effect. His shoulders went stiff and he held Harry's gaze for a long while before turning his head to the window. Harry wondered, for a moment, if the red of Draco's own robes was reflected there for him to see. Did it surprise Draco to see himself on the good side just as it did Harry every morning when he saw Draco?

"Your power is borrowed," Draco said. His voice was low, dark. He wasn’t looking at Harry and that infuriated him more than Draco's words. "Always has been. At least I'm here by virtue of my own hard work."

"Oh, please. Tell that to the state-of-the-art Unspeakable labs, paid for by an _anonymous_ donation."

"How dare you—"

Fire flashed through Harry. He grabbed Draco by the front of his robes and yanked him forward. Power thrilled through him at the way Draco's body bent to his will. "How dare _you_ ," he growled, "act like I give a shit about you. I'm trying to do my fucking job, and if you can't do yours, then you're out of here."

Draco said nothing, but the thoughts behind his eyes were broadcast as clearly as his disgust at being manhandled. Harry didn’t care. Draco's helplessness only made him feel more powerful, something that both scared and excited him.

Draco jerked back, hard, and if Harry hadn't been expecting just that, the abrupt movement would have broken his hold on Draco's clothes. As it was, he tugged Draco closer yet again, a doll in his hands.

"Power trip is a bad look for you, _Potter_ ," Draco said with a familiar sneer.

Black rage unlike anything he'd felt in the past ten years flooded Harry's body. With his grip on Draco's robes as tight as ever, he pushed Draco the few steps to the wall, slamming him against it. The action forced the wind from Draco's lungs, and his head hit the wall with a satisfying crack.

"Impotence is a _great_ look on you." Harry shook his head, hardly believing his own actions. He couldn’t explain them, but what was there to explain? Harry hated Draco, he was angry, he was in charge, and Draco had to learn. That was all. It was a lesson.

Then he saw it.

"Oh, Malfoy," he mocked, looking down between them. "I guess it isn’t impotence after all."

A grinding creak from Draco's jaw sounded, his teeth clenched so tight Harry bet he couldn’t even breathe through them. "Fuck you," he hissed, his face turning red.

Harry thought of Ginny, fiery, fierce, as he palmed Draco's erection. Its length was impressive enough to make up for what it lacked in girth, but Harry felt like taunting Draco more. "Not with this thing, I'd barely feel it."

Draco reared to one side, and this time the action took Harry by surprise. His hold slipped and Draco was backing toward the door. "You'll be sacked for this. You'll be fucking lynched."

"And who's going to lead that mob, Malfoy? You? You're not the type to have followers. In fact, I'd rather say _you_ were the following sort. Wouldn’t you?"

When Draco sighed, it was a tired sound. "What do you want? You want me to call you 'sir'? Fine. You win."

"I don't think so," Harry said. His heart pounded. "That's not good enough any more." Draco turned and started for the door but Harry grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. Even as he did it, he knew Draco could, if he wanted to, break the grasp. Draco could have done a lot of things and hadn't.

In an instant Draco spun around and had his wand under Harry's chin, digging in. The look on his face was murderous but tinged with panic. Finding a confidence he didn’t even know he had, Harry pushed the wand away. Draco struggled to keep it in place but Harry didn’t relent. The moment it was pointed away from his body, Harry grabbed Draco by the throat and squeezed. At first Draco struggled; his hands came up to swing at Harry, to claw at his arm. Harry persevered and Draco just… stopped.

Closing his hand, fingers digging into either side of Draco's slender, pale neck, Harry watched Draco's face. What was this? Was he trying to kill Draco? He didn’t think so. Any anger he'd felt had shifted, turned into something even more primal. Now he wanted to see Draco suffer but he wanted that without actually hurting him. Or maybe hurting him just a little.

It was the look on Draco's face more than his actual need to inflict damage that prompted Harry's hand to grope for and close around Draco's dick as much as he could manage. Through the thick robes the grip was uncertain but he could tell Draco felt it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Draco asked, sounding more surprised than outraged. His face was pale but his cheeks were red, his eyes darting between Harry's face and his own groin.

Watching him, Harry began to move his hand, roughly dragging it over Draco's cock. There was no mistaking that part of Draco wanted what was happening. The throbbing reached Harry's hands even through the material. As Draco's breath began to quicken, Harry closed his fingers tighter around Draco's neck, clenching in time with his heartbeat until Draco's panting exhalations were strained and desperate. When Draco's eyes closed, it was in defeat, and both of Harry's hands closed around their prey. Draco sputtered and choked as he came, his eyes widening in panic when he realized Harry wasn’t letting up.

Harry wanted to feel sick, wanted to think of his wife and children and the life he'd built exactly as he'd wanted it—but all he could see, all he knew, was that Draco was sinking to his knees and his _eyes_ were begging for life.

"Well, if you must," Harry said, parting his robes and tugging his pants to fit snugly under his cock and balls. He threaded his fingers through Draco's hair before holding tight and tipping his head back. Draco looked dazed and tried to move his face away from Harry's precome-smeared cock, but Harry held him steady and rubbed the tip over his dry, slack lips.

"You're fucking sick." Draco glared up at him, and again Harry was struck by how he _didn't_ struggle. He made the appearance of not wanting it but Harry had the feeling there was more going on than he knew.

"Suck it." He tried to push the tip into Draco's mouth but Draco's lips pursed shut. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. He spat down on his cock and spread it around, slicking himself before beginning to wank. He held Draco's hair even tighter, though relief at his imminent release calmed him. He even stopped a few times to slap his dick against Draco's face or to try to push past his lips again, but it wasn’t long before his balls tightened and drew up. The look on Draco's face as the first spurt caught him across the nose and cheek was one Harry would never forget. It was pure indignation. The second pulse, however, was followed by horrified resignation, and for the third and fourth shots Draco just looked blank.

"Next time you'll swallow every fucking drop." Harry tugged hard on Draco's hair, hitting his head against the wall before letting him go. He straightened his robes and walked behind his desk, sitting with casual ease but all the while keeping his eyes on Draco.

For a moment Draco looked furious enough that Harry put a hand on his wand, but then the anger slid from his features and he stood, a little shaky but not without the grace befitting his former status.

"You'll be sorry." Draco wiped his face on his sleeve, disgust evident in his actions.

"You're the sorry one, Malfoy," Harry returned. His stomach twisted but he plastered a smirk on his face. "See you around."

*

Harry's fingers closed around the sharp jut of Draco's hipbone. When they fucked like this, with Draco's chest pressed against the bathroom stall and Harry behind him, going up on tiptoes with every thrust, he felt like he couldn’t hold on enough, like at any moment Draco would turn to water and become nothing more than a stain on Harry's leather boots.

Harry made marks on Draco. Draco had protested at first, as he did with everything Harry did to him, but Harry had won. Harry didn’t know and didn’t care what Asteria thought of the bruises, the bites, the rope burns, the fingernail gouges. He didn’t know and didn’t care if Draco undressed and stared at the marks in the mirror, cataloguing each one and remembering, not with fondness, the circumstances behind them.

He thrust in, Draco's body clamping down on him, half trying to reject, half needing to absorb. Harry knew exactly what Draco needed—or at least what his body needed. After half a year of fucking him, Harry didn't know anything important about Draco. He drank tea and never coffee, he was punctual to the extreme, he zoned out during meetings but never seemed to miss anything, and he hated it when Harry fucked him. But he still let him. Harry didn’t know what it all meant. He probably never would.

"Fuck, you love my cock, don't you?" Harry bottomed out and ground his hips, wishing he could get deeper, deeper and more violent, more ugly, more permanent. "Tell me you love my cock."

Draco grunted and hit the wall with an open palm. His face was turned to the side and Harry could see sweat beading on his upper lip. He said nothing. He never did.

A particularly sharp thrust drew a tortured hiss from Draco's mouth and the sound finished Harry unexpectedly. He came, long and hard, harder every time it seemed. Too soon he pulled out, still erect. He pushed two fingers into Draco's closing hole, feeling pride at the slipperiness of his own come inside. Draco was still through the abuse, as Harry was never gentle. When he was satisfied, he grabbed Draco's shoulder and spun him around, then pushed him to his knees. Draco glared, but Harry persisted, and Harry won. Draco cleaned his cock with a grimace.

*

Draco was quiet when he came. Harry hated that about him. He hated that Draco could make him shout, make him cry out, make him grunt and groan with almost no effort, but no matter what Harry did, Draco barely made a sound.

Not even when Harry hurt him.

Four fingers deep in Draco's arse, Harry _knew_ it had to hurt, but Draco showed nothing; even his face was quiet. He no longer reacted the way Harry loved, with a flushed face and furious eyes. He was stoic and Harry despised it.

Harry sucked hard on Draco's prick, much harder than he knew Draco liked. He pounded his fingers inside Draco while his other hand tugged and squeezed Draco's balls, and still Draco breathed evenly, his eyes upward, his hands on the wall behind him, never buried in Harry's hair or clutching at his shoulders.

It occurred to Harry, his mouth full of Draco, that the power balance had shifted and he didn’t like that at all.

He wanted to shove his fist up Draco's arse. He wanted to chain him to his desk and kick him every time he passed. He wanted to hand Draco off to his friends. He wanted to piss on him, inside him, make him swallow it. He wanted Draco's soul signed over to him. He wanted to fuck Draco in front of his wife, in front of his _child_ , he wanted to scar Draco forever, he wanted to destroy him, to kill him and keep his body under his marital bed.

Draco took way too long to come. It used to be that Harry could bring him off in mere seconds. A few half-arsed yanks and Draco would be spilling all over them both. A couple prods against his prostate and Draco would be falling over the edge. Now it took forever and Harry hated that too.

Uncaring, Harry roughly pulled his fingers from Draco, practically spitting his dick out. He spelled his hand clean and stood. "Get out," he snapped, angry at himself but not half as much as he was with Draco.

"What's the problem, Potter?" Draco asked, smug despite his hard-on and sloppy arsehole.

"You are, you fucking prick. You disgust me. Now get out of here!"

Draco's smirk followed Harry all the way home and right into his dreams.

*

Harry had no idea, not a bloody clue, how it came to be that a year later he was thinking of Ginny in order to come while fucking Draco.

Her soft skin. Her playful smile. How sex with her was _fun_ , not full of anger and pain and disaster and the most brutal form of desire he'd ever experienced.

"Come on, Potter, I haven’t got all fucking day. Getting old, are we?"

Harry slammed Draco's face into the desk and held it there. Draco grunted and Harry thought, _Finally, a sound._ He fucked away at Draco, going through two lubrication spells before admitting defeat. He pulled out, not even that hard, and tucked himself away before Draco could see.

"Your arse is so loose I can barely feel a thing. You really should work on that." Harry's voice was tight and he knew without even glancing at Draco that he hadn't won that one at all. He almost never won any more.

Draco wasn’t paying attention. He was still bent over the desk, his hand working away at his erection. Rage smothered Harry. How dare Draco try to come while Harry couldn’t get there? How dare he think to soil Harry's desk without even fucking asking? How dare he feel pleasure without Harry causing it?

Half-blind, he grabbed the back of Draco's robes and yanked him up before throwing him to the ground. He fell on his side, a whoosh of air leaving him, transporting Harry back to the first time he'd won, the first time he'd had Draco.

Draco turned onto his back. His nose was bleeding from when Harry'd slammed his face down. The position was so familiar that Harry could almost hear the slicing spell, could almost smell the blood.

"You don't even want this any more, _sir_." Draco rolled his eyes and wiped his sleeve across his nose. "Just stop it."

"I can't," Harry said in a rare moment of vulnerability. "I need it."

Draco sighed. "I do, too."

Hearing those words was better than any cry Draco could have given in the heat of the moment. It was better than any concession he could have imaged. But with it, with the admission that Draco wanted Harry, went the last of Harry's desire for Draco.

"Say it's over and it's over." He held Draco's eyes, daring him, begging him.

Without hesitation, Draco said, "It's over."

Harry paused. It was what he wanted. It was what Draco wanted, too—which is why he couldn’t let it happen. "No."

Draco's eyes closed.

Harry was a monster, yes. But Draco made him that way.

  
The end.


End file.
